Let’s Talk About God: My Testimony

Walking with God, tripping constantly! 

I was born under complicated circumstances. My birth mother was mentally challenged and had survived both polio and meningitis as a child — something doctors didn’t even expect her to live through. Shortly after I was born, she recorded a video from the hospital. There was only one thing she wanted me to know:

She wanted me to know God.

At three months old, I was adopted into a Christian home and raised in a church-centered community. From the outside, it looked like I had a solid spiritual foundation. But inside, I never truly felt like I belonged — not at home, not at school, not at church, and not even in my hometown.

I remember promising in programs like Girl Scouts and D.A.R.E. that I would stay drug- and alcohol-free. I meant it. I also remember wanting to serve God when I was young. I was baptized as a child and believed that faith would always be part of my life.

But life didn’t stay gentle.

Through trauma, abuse, loss, and years of bullying, something inside me slowly began to change. I became angry — angry at my life, angry at myself, and eventually angry at God. In that anger, I walked away from everything I once believed in.

The Bible says in Romans 3:23, “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” That verse describes exactly where I found myself. I had fallen far from who I once hoped to be.

My life eventually reflected that distance — a failed marriage, two children, and multiple addictions. I tried rehab more than once, but I walked out each time. I convinced myself I could do it on my own. Looking back now, I can see that believing I didn’t need God was one of the most damaging lies I ever told myself.

I spent years searching for peace in all the wrong places — changing my identity, chasing spirituality without truth, and numbing pain in ways that only created deeper wounds. Nothing truly healed me. Nothing lasted.

Everything changed when I finally reached a breaking point.

I was at rock bottom, and for the first time in a long time, I knew I couldn’t survive the way I was living. That’s when I felt God speak to me — not in fear, but in clarity:

Are you done? It’s time to come back.

Isaiah 41:10 says, “Do not fear, for I am with you… I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.” That promise became real in my life.

I argued with God. I told Him all the reasons He shouldn’t want me. I told Him about my addictions, my mistakes, and how far I had fallen. And He answered me with something that changed everything:

Those things are what you’ve done — not who you are. You are My child.

Recovery didn’t start perfectly. I showed up to meetings still struggling. I even relapsed — more than twice. But this time I didn’t run. I went back to Scripture. I went back to prayer. I finally stopped trying to do everything in my own strength and truly surrendered.

2 Corinthians 12:9 says, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” I now understand what that means, because my weakness became the place where God met me.

I won’t pretend I have everything figured out. Recovery isn’t a straight line, and I’m still learning. But I keep showing up. I keep choosing God. I keep getting back up.

I was recently re-baptized after learning what baptism truly means. I’ve written my first faith-based book and am currently working on my second. My writing now belongs to God, and I want it to be used to help others feel less alone.

I still live with mental illness and chronic pain. But I trust that God has a plan for my life — even when the road is hard.

Because if God could reach me where I was,

He can reach anyone.

After everything I’ve walked through, my faith doesn’t look like what you might expect from mainstream church culture — and I want to be honest about that.

I believe in Jesus. I believe in Scripture. I believe in repentance, healing, and transformation. But I do not believe in using faith as a weapon. I don’t believe in judging, condemning, or dividing people into categories of “clean” and “unclean.” I don’t believe in shouting truth without love, or preaching from a place of superiority.

Jesus had very strong words about division in His church. He prayed for unity. He walked with the outcast. He defended the broken. He didn’t build fences — He built tables.

This blog is not a place of condemnation. It is not a place of religious performance. It is not a place for shame.

This is a judgment-free zone.

You are safe here.

You are welcome here.

You are not too far gone.

I don’t care what your past looks like. I don’t care what you’ve been addicted to. I don’t care what labels you’ve been given, what church hurt you carry, or how tangled your story feels right now. If you’re breathing, God is not done with you — and neither am I.

My heart for this space is simple: love, honesty, healing, and compassion. This is a place where we can talk about mental illness, addiction, trauma, motherhood, pain, faith, doubt, and hope — without pretending, without pressure, and without fear.

You don’t have to perform here.

You don’t have to prove anything here.

You don’t have to be “fixed” to belong here.